


All the Difference

by Shenanigans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Isaac POV, M/M, Multi, OT3, Threesome, they didn't talk about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac feels like he's done something wrong. He's intruding. Things are complicated until they really just aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Difference

**Author's Note:**

> written on the fly, unbetaed, typos grammar blah blah blah. It's all mine but the characters and the sexual tension. That's totally canon. Thank you for reading!

_two roads diverged in a yellow wood_

Isaac usually stood at Scott's right hand when they were walking down the halls. He kept his head tilted down and to the left, watching the way Scott's wrist flexed as he spoke with gestures as much as words. Isaac was left handed. Scott was a righty.

Sometimes their knuckles brushed. Isaac never commented on it.

Isaac faced Allison head on. He had the sharp bright memory of knives slipping between his ribs, metal grinding against bone and the way his lungs went tight- shocked. Some blades were so sharp he never felt them. He liked to make sure he knew where her hands were.

Sometimes the looks held a breath too long. Isaac knew what drowning felt like.

_and be one traveller long I stood_

Scott's back pushed against his chest, flexing with his breaths and stilling into the exhilarating tilt of a turn. Underneath them the road flew past, flecked with oil spots that blurred into a shade of gray. This close he could see the way the black hairs at the nape of his neck were growing out over the pale line of skin left over from his last haircut. He could count the small moles that marched in a perfect line along the nape and over the bump of his spine.

The first time they'd ridden, he'd held on too tight, knuckles white in the fabric of Scott's jacket at the jerking stomach lurching starts that shoved him back. He'd gritted his teeth, eyes twisted shut as he forced himself to go loose, to go soft into the way they wove through the slower moving traffic. They'd hit a straightaway out towards the preserve, before the road started winding into switchbacks. It was cooler under the pine and Isaac threw his arms out, laughing around a wild yell.

Scott had a way of reminding people that there was more. He kept Isaac present.

The dirt bike was listing to the side, kickstand lifting it up. The walls of the clinic were clean until the back alley where they started muddling with the natural age of time and disuse. The fence was capped with neat rows of barbed wire, but had the faint luster of newness. The parking spaces were empty except for Stiles' blue jeep and Lydia's sensible Camry. Isaac rubbed his shoulder, watching from the shadows around the back exit.

Scott and Allison weren't talking, but Scott stood close to her, eyes down and warm despite the way his hair was blackbird slick and spiking in the cold Autumn air. She had one arm cradled over her stomach, clutching the fabric at her hip as her lashes clumped together. There was a flicker of dimple and the twist of a wry honest smile in return. Scott's shoulders pulled the seams of his shirt tight, suckling his collarbones and plastered over the planes of his chest. Allison's skirt tangled against the length of her thighs and Isaac was distracted by the long fine bones of her feet and the sight of Scott's hipbones outlined in wet cotton.

He glanced over and met Stiles' eyes, flat and black in the dark where the other boy shivered. Lydia was at his side, not holding onto him but there in a way that made it obvious.

Isaac was the intruder here.

_and looked down one as far as I could_

Isaac dropped his bike in the front yard, wheel still spinning with the ticking of the chain as he slouched out of his backpack and rolled his eyes at where Scott was leaning indolently against the porch rail. "Yeah yeah."

"Told you-"

"Whatever, fucker," Isaac muttered, slapping the backs of his knuckles against Scott's thigh, grinning wicked when the other boy flinched back and covered his groin protectively.

Scott's laughter followed him inside, clinging to his skin like pollen.

The McCall's house opened to a small foyer that led directly into the stairs to the second floor with an opening to the living room and dining room on either side. The kitchen was down the hall and to the right after a guest bathroom tucked under the stairs. The TV was on the left, surrounded by a huddle of battered couches and an armchair. The coffee table in the center cluttered with papers, books, old soda cans, remotes, and coasters that Scott always forgot to use. The refrigerator had notes pinned to it with campy magnets and a few pictures of Melissa and Scott laughing like hooligans in matched step and matched smiles.

Scott's room was at the top of the stairs and to the left, across from what had been the office but was now Isaac's room. There was a bathroom at the end, but Scott had his own off his room. Melissa's room was to the right and Isaac tilted his head as he toed out of the heavy black boots Camden had left at home after Boot. The silence never felt threatening here.

The kitchen smelled like orange peels and toasted bread under the sharper scent of tomato and garlic. Isaac never talked about the salt scent of tears that were sometimes caught on the couch. Scott never did either.

Isaac had seen his father cry twice: once when they buried the box that held his mother's body and again when the crack of gunfire signaled the death of his favorite son. He turned, looking back over his shoulder at Scott, eyes glittering with impish delight. Melissa cried for her son.

That meant something.

"Did you get the notes?"

"From English?"

"No, Chemistry." Isaac rolled his eyes, catching Scott by the back of the neck to snort against his hair before moving down the hall to the kitchen.

"Yours are better."

"I thought you were familiar with sarcasm, dude."

There was a pause and Isaac picked up a foot to straighten the seam on his sock where it had twisted around his pinky toe. Scott looked shocked for a moment, eyes wide and mouth dropped open before it broke into a startled smile that broke slow over his face like melting frost. "Did you just make a joke?"

"…maybe?" Isaac tossed him a wavering smile in return instead of reaching out to touch the lines etched like parenthesis around Scott's grin. (It made it secret. It made it his.)

Scott was faster, ducking forward to smack him in belated retaliation. Isaac was never sure if he was actually slower or if he just needed a reason to let Scott get close, to let the hands flail and press until they had crashed off the island and ended up in a tangle of legs and tickling fingers that were peppered with snapped teeth and threats of violence.

Isaac was used to being hit. He wasn't used to it meaning something other than disappointment.

The first time Isaac saw Allison Argent she was dressed in black and smeared with sunshine.

He'd been leaning against the flaking paint on the CT18, the smell of diesel thick even to his human senses. The journalists had flocked like angry sparrows, rustling in brown and the squawking tones of angry curiosity. He'd watched her mother with the vicious red of her hair burnt bright in the afternoon light and her father in shades of silver holding her up. He'd watched the way she'd kept her head down, glossy dark hair falling around her face. No one noticed the help.

The second time Isaac saw Allison Argent she was waiting outside the locker rooms for Scott. She was flush, cheeks bright and blotchy pink around glittering eyes and dimples that punctuated her joy. She'd squeaked, bouncing once before tossing herself at him. He'd staggered just a little before smiling into her mouth, smiling into her kiss and the abandon there. No one noticed second string.

The third time he hadn't seen her coming. The third time she'd looked through him as the bright hot smell of his own blood burst like violent flowers around the shaft of the arrow. He was used to being overlooked.

And then the world had lit up, exploding bright in a way that dazzled and blinded him. He'd turned his head, black spots floating and winking out of his vision and seen her just watching him. She'd seen him that night and Isaac had one brief second to realize just how fucked he really was.

He wasn't very good at being a wolf yet. He couldn't pick out a heartbeat. He couldn't pinpoint the smell of blood. He couldn't quite help the way his eyes would flicker in and out of gold. He listened to it too much like the voice that had spoken in silken hot whispers in the back of his head in the dark. In the dark he'd screamed until his ears rang, fingers bloody, knees bruised and toes broken as he fought.

He'd spent so long hiding that when he was allowed to be visible he didn't know when to stop.

Being _seen_ was a heady thing.

_to where it bent in the undergrowth_

Scott bounced into bed with him, book sprawled to flop closed as he groaned. Scott slung an arm around his shoulders to pull him down and whisper quick funny observations. Scott curled warm dry fingers around his wrist when his skin was slick with rain and the abject misery of losing yet again. Scott's smile was brighter than the first flash of dawn and it reminded Isaac of the simple joy of a Rocket Pop. It dripped down to stick between his fingers and stain his teeth red then pink then blue. Scott hugged like he didn't care who was looking. He laughed like the joke was the best thing he'd ever heard. He flushed when he told dirty jokes. He bounced on the balls of his feet when his excitement was too much, brimming to whistle out of him and steam something warm and thick into Isaac's skin. Scott was warm. Scott was kind. Scott fit and moved through the world in a way that made everyone wonder how they hadn't known they'd been missing the piece shaped just like his crooked jaw.

But Scott wasn't just a caricature of charm.

The light from the street lights outside filtered through the crab apples that lined the cul-du-sac. The house smelled like buttered popcorn left just a little too long to smoke in the microwave. The soda cans sweated to Isaac's right and he was curling back against the drawers, knees up and arms slung around his shins. He tilted his head back to rest against the top and watched Scott from under his lashes. Exhaustion weighed heavy, that mild nauseous sort of over tired, but Scott was just watching his mother sleep. He was canted forward, forearms resting on his knees and fingers clasped together. They twisted back and forth, joints popping in time with his worry. In the dark he was beautiful in his vigil.

He watched her. He watched over her. It was like he tossed the blanket of his caring over people who came close enough and they'd whispered in the dark, caught under the billow of it like kids under a fort made of pillows and sheets. Isaac had watched his mouth move, had taken the orders, and shut down the way he wanted to find something to show Scott that he was important for this.

That he was special for the way he cared.

Their knuckles had brushed and Isaac had ducked his head, ducking out of the way his heart wrenched and he was aware of the space between them like it was strung with the glitter of christmas lights. He was sure he could reach between them and catch the tension between his finger tips and play Cat's Cradle, weaving it into something more, something tangled with geometry and meaning.

Scott's hair was sticking up on the right side and flat on the left. He had a small mole just under his left eye and his lips looked wet, glossy in the dark around the neat white flash of teeth on the consonants. "You should sleep."

Isaac shook his head, mouth turned down in denial. "Naw. You're up. I'm up." He shrugged, splaying his fingers, tips touching the edge of Scott's palm on the extension.

Scott caught his fingers and squeezed them once, eyes black in the dark and full of something Isaac didn't understand.

He'd never seen it before.

They didn't talk about it. Isaac was okay with that.

Allison took aim. Allison cut and sliced, pushing into his space to grit her teeth against his ear when his head fell back in pain, knives twisting as she'd pressed against his back. She'd stepped over him, shoes scraping against the cement as she'd walked away, the drop of his own blood staining the bottom hem of his shirt and hot as he'd struggled to want to get up again. She hurt and he didn't have to flinch anymore.

The scent of her shampoo had filled the space over the harsh chemical cleaners and brown plain scent of paper towels and toilet paper. The mop bucket was a moldering black spot in the corner under the pasty weight of floor wax. He'd found her hair on his sweater, pulling it to loop around his fingertip, pooling blood and focused on the beat of his heart. She stood too close. She pushed too hard and didn't even notice. She watched him and he refused to look away. He'd spent his entire life ducking away from gazes that hurt.

She opened to him like a night blooming flower, unsure and afraid of the light.

Getting up off the floor was always the hardest part of getting the shit kicked out of him. He waited, adam's apple bobbing against the edge of her blade under the way her knees tucked tight against his ribs. "You cut your hair."

She blinked, quirking him a confused look as she pulled the blade back, flipping it around absently as she tucked a stray lock behind her ear under a flush. "Yeah. I needed a change."

"I like it." He lifted his hands, palms up to show no threat and rubbed over his throat, mouth twisting into a small smile before he looked down between them and back up. "A lot."

She flushed and he flushed in return, willing his body to calm from the startled fight or flight. He shifted, heels squeaking on the floor as he hefted his hips to keep the weird bunching of his jeans from getting uncomfortable. She moved with him, easy and fluid like breathing. "Thanks."

This close he could feel the heat of her skin. This close he could see the way her eyes were a rich brown, warm and bright over the broad height of her cheekbones. She wore Burt's Bees chap stick and he almost lifted his head to taste it. She had a hand on his chest, straddling his hips and bent over him. Her hair tented around his face and walled off the world with glossy waves. She smelled like leather, Pantene, and determination under the soft smile.

"You're welcome."

They didn't talk about it. Isaac was okay with that.

_and took the other as just as fair_

Isaac didn't think about fucking them. It didn't make sense when he was laying on top of the sheets, faint chilled breeze blowing over his stomach as he flipped the button on his jeans and closed his eyes.

He didn't imagine pulling Allison over his hips and holding the sharp angles of her jaw against his palms as she sighed short sharp gasps against his mouth. He didn't think about her hips rolling in urgent shoves or her thighs going tight as her toes curled. He didn't imagine his fingers tangled in her hair to tug her head back- opening her in a long arched line of flushed skin and soft breasts.

He was used to the scratch of hair against his wrist as he wriggled his hips, thighs sprawling open as he hitched the waist of his boxers out of the way and gasped into the first shock of cold again his cock. Touching himself was necessary then, palm slick with spit against the thick heat of himself. He covered his mouth with his other hand, door locked and sheets shoved to the end of the bed as his feet shifted with each quick needy stroke.

Isaac didn't picture the way Scott's hair would look curled around his knuckles and mouth a wrecked red as he sucked. He didn't try to guess what his shoulders would feet like or the way his chin would scratch light against his balls, spit slick and cooling before the roll of his tongue. He didn't try to guess what it would be like to look down the length of his torso to hold eyes that flickered between the rich brown and stunning gold.

He pictured them together. He pictured them the way they should be. Isaac was never quite sure if he wanted to _be_ them or _be with_ them. He came silently over his own knuckles and cleaned up with a sock he snagged from over the edge of the bed.

_as it was grassy and wanting wear_

It wasn't the first time he'd been caught between the hot sticky looks of two people who needed each other. He remembers the way Erica had burned against his chest and turned to arch into a wild kiss under strobe lights. He remembers the way she'd snuggled back against his chest, heavy and warm even as she stretched a hand out to touch light fingertips to the inside of Boyd's wrist. He remembers the way she'd just started slipping from him in inches, in smiles, in laughter that ducked around corners just as he approached.

He remembers how small she'd looked with Boyd's mouth moving in a slow growl on hers and how pretty their fingers had looked tangled together when he told them goodbye.

Isaac had learned to leave first. It was polite to know when the party was over.

He didn't cry over the way the fickle flash of youth had turned and left him. He did cry that like always, leaving meant he was burying family. His mom had turned around in her seat to grab something and was gone before he'd had the chance to say goodbye. Cam had left, smiling tightly around the American Spirit gripped in his teeth and come back in a plain wood box draped with the American Flag. His Dad had left the house to chase him down and left in a pink mist of blood splattered on the interior of a car Isaac would never drive.

Erica had left.

Boyd had left.

The girl who saved him was gone.

Isaac had a body count and he watched because he didn't want to have to say goodbye.

So, he simply stood too close. He stole moments when no one was looking and passed them back and forth between Scott and Allison like folded notes. He paused at Scott's door when he came out of the shower, chest broad and golden with his hair dripping onto his shoulders. He let his eyes drink him in, wandering over the thick black lines of his tattoo before skipping down to the line of black hair that trailed under his navel to disappear coyly into the white of his towel. Scott watched him back and Isaac didn't let himself linger on how easy it would be to step inside and close the door behind him. How easy it would be to press quieting fingers to the soft swell of Scott's smile as he reached to uncurl his fingers. The towel would make a ripple of sound and Isaac would drop to his knees.

His mouth watered and he just said good morning around the bitter smell of arousal under the warm spice of Scott's body wash.

The door was never closed in the mornings after that. They didn't talk about it.

So, he simply stood still. He didn't stop moments when Allison stared back, studying him like she didn't understand. He kept his fingers tight around the bite of metal handcuffs, body still singing electric as her breath puffed against his ear. He strained and Allison tucked against him easy as magnets. He felt the brush of her lips against his throat and the way her fingers splayed wider over his chest before she looked up. She had a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose and he knew what her eyelashes felt like against his pulse. She'd pressed her thank you against the corner of his mouth and he'd let his eyes fall shut and held on. Allison's hands wandered and Isaac knew what the soft skin at the small of her back felt like with his fingers under her shirt and her thighs caught around the length of his. He didn't let himself linger on how easy it would be to flip the front of her skirt to touch at her. The metal ring of the handcuff would clatter a sweet belling sound when she gripped the bars for balance with his mouth working against the slick tang between her thighs.

His mouth watered and he just helped her over the lip of the bank vault door around the tangy wet scent of arousal under the soft white floral of her hair.

She didn't look away from his eyes when he'd pushed her under water, holding on and grounded in the way she watched him. They didn't talk about that.

_and both that morning equally lay_

Allison's hair tangled around her face and clung sticky as lip gloss kisses to her cheek and Scott simply reached to brush it away.

Isaac knew he was shivering because he was pressed against his left side. Isaac knew that Allison stilled on a baited breath because she was tucked at his right.

Scott's hand dropped into his lap to cover his fingers, pruned and white nailed from cold as his lips slipped from blue back to warm. Allison reached with a small dimpled smile to slide hers between Scott's knuckles. 

"You meant it?"

Isaac felt the words against his right cheek.

Scott shrugged and tightened his grip before looking from her to Isaac, holding his gaze with that glossy meaningful stare that Isaac didn't understand. "I did." Isaac had never been important before.

"It's okay."

Isaac ducked his head, looking at where their fingers were woven together in his lap and wasn't sure how the smile could slide wobbling and afraid over his mouth. "We're going to have to talk about it."

"Yeah," they said.

Isaac believed them.

_I took the one less traveled by_


End file.
